Bleary-eyed, I walk. The fog rolls thick and heavy. Trees line the path like giant gnarled fingers beckoning. A shrill whistling wind scatters, disorienting. Still, I walk. A stone angel waits in silent consideration. Placing a flower on a heap of dirt, I fall. Featured Download: If you would like a resource to help you…

Casting off in a silver ship. A brittle battle ship. A merry song they hum with stars all in their hair and savage smiles. They dance, how they dance in ancient rhythm beckoning in sweet harmony With fingers like reeds skin transparent like Flowing water. feeding on the rotted flesh of men. licking the blood…